


Recovery

by ant5b



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Dorks in Love, Gyro's character development, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, where's it at
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 10:18:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15362337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ant5b/pseuds/ant5b
Summary: Three people who visit Fenton in the hospital, following “Who is Gizmoduck?”





	Recovery

**Author's Note:**

> The Italian dub of DT apparently gave M'ma/Officer Cabrera the name Gloria, which I will be using here

  
  


After making the mistake of engaging the Gizmosuit from his hospital bed, Fenton was fitted for another cast. 

His mother beside him, they waited for the pain medication to kick in and propel him into the sweet oblivion of sleep. Every inch and feather of his body ached in a way that was painfully foreign, though he should’ve expected as much after having nuclear acceletron explode in his face. 

Though she’d had to leave initially to file her report of the Waddleduck incident, Gloria made it clear that little else would tear her from his side for the duration of his hospital stay.

   Now that things had calmed, she combed her fingers through his hair, mindful of the bandages around his head. She hummed snippets of songs she’d sung to him as a child, her gaze thoughtful and far away. 

Though Fenton lay still , having already suffered his mother’s ire for reinjuring himself without even leaving his hospital room, his mind was awhirl with all that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. Scrooge McDuck— _ the _ Scrooge McDuck!—standing in the doorway of the VIP hospital suite he had paid for. Offering Fenton the opportunity to help people, to accomplish the one goal that had propelled through every dead end job and tedious, unpaid internship. 

Not quite of his own volition, Fenton’s gaze was drawn to the duffel bag at the foot of his bed as surely as if it were a lodestone. His mother followed his line of sight without him realizing. 

“So,” Gloria said, deceptively calm. “‘Gizmoduck,’ huh?”

Fenton winced, guilt welling up inside him like blood from an open wound. “I was going to tell you,” he said quickly, before looking away. “I...I wanted to tell you.”

“Before or after you’d blown yourself up?” his mother demanded in an icy tone, for all that her hand remained gentle on his brow. 

“It wasn’t supposed to go this way.” Fenton sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “I didn’t even think anyone could take me seriously until the bank robbery. I mean,  _ me _ , a hero?” he chuckled weakly. “It sounds like a bad joke.”

His mother cupped his cheek, caressing the feathers under his eye with her thumb. “That’s not what I’m saying,  _ pollito.  _ The fact that you would put on a refrigerator to protect people doesn’t surprise me. I’m just surprised that you would keep something like this from me.”

Fenton attempted a shrug, and winced at the strain against his cast. “I knew you’d think I was crazy. And then you were so proud of me for getting a real job at Waddle, and well…”

“I want you to be happy, Fenton _ ,  _ and I want you to be successful,”Gloria said. Her tone gentled, and became rueful. “I think I just forgot about the first part.” 

“ _ Mamá,”  _ Fenton tried weakly. 

“Fenton,” she said, eyes brimming with tears as she looked back at her son. “When your suit exploded over the water, I thought you were dead.”

“I’m sorry,” he started to say, but his mother shook her head. 

“It’s not something I ever want to feel again,” she said, “but as much as I hate it, I know that’s not up to me. So I need to know if you’re serious about this. About...Gizmoduck.”

Fenton swallowed, but nodded with steely expression that was bolstered by the tears he tried to blink away. “I am,  _ Mamá _ .”

Gloria closed her eyes with a sigh, but her answering smile was that of understanding. “Then I guess Duckburg had better get used to there being  _ two  _ Cabrera’s on the beat.” 

Fenton’s vision began to swim, though this time it was from the pain medication rather than tears. It didn’t stop the outpouring of relief and love he felt, and in that moment he wished more than ever that his arms were free so he could embrace his mother. 

_ “Gracias, Mamá,” _ he said thickly, his eyelids drooping heavily. 

Gloria brushed the hair off his forehead. “You may not be my little boy anymore, but you’ll always be my  _ pollito _ ,” she said as the medication dragged him under. “I’m very proud of you, Fenton.”

He felt his mother press a kiss against his temple, before sleep claimed him entirely.

 

Fenton awoke some time later in a drug-induced haze.

He was barely cognizant enough to reconcile the hand sweeping through his hair with his mother’s voice above him, as there was another, less familiar, voice nearby. Though their words were indistinguishable and muffled, as if Fenton were listening while underwater, he recognized the cadence of his mother’s voice when it was raised in anger.

The other voice replied in short, sharp bursts, in a way that niggled at his subconscious to put a name to. But it slipped away from him like smoke, his mind far afield and thoughts nebulous. He barely opened his eyes long enough to catch a glimpse of two blurry figures on the other side of the room before he lost his tenuous hold on wakefulness entirely. 

The next time Fenton woke up, he did so fully. 

Blinking to consciousness piecemeal, he was momentarily confused as to where he was. But the itch under his cast and general achiness quickly reminded him of his situation. 

His vision still blurry from medication and sleep, he blearily searched for his mother with what little mobility his neck brace allowed. By the silence and lack of motherly ministrations that greeted him, he deduced that she wasn’t in his hospital room. But perhaps more troubling was that rather than his mother, a different figure loomed over him.

“Your mom went outside to make a phone call,” they said, just in time for Fenton’s vision to clear and allow him to recognize his former boss. 

“Dr. Gearloose!” he exclaimed, jerking forward against his cast in surprise and only succeeding in making pain erupt over most of his body. Fenton closed his eyes with a wince, and didn’t notice Gyro take a startled step back. “What-what are you doing here?” he asked once the flare of pain had begun to ebb. 

“Well, inter —Mr. Crackshell-Cabrera,” Gyro began loftily, though Fenton was sure he hadn’t heard right. “If you must know, our mutual boss, Mr. McDuck, asked that I stop by to check on you.”

Sleep-addled and aching, Fenton struggled to comprehend what Gyro was saying. “Oh, you shouldn’t have bothered, Dr. Gearloose, I’m fine.”

Gyro took a seat in the chair beside his hospital bed, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“That’s what I told Mr. McDuck,” he said with a small roll of his eyes. “But I suspect he’s still mad about my keeping ‘Gizmoduck’ a secret. And,” he raised a fist to his beak as he cleared his throat a little too casually. “I think he wanted me to apologize to your mother.”

Fenton blinked. “That was you two?” he blurted. “I-I mean I was half-asleep, but. I did hear voices.” He thought it would be in poor taste to tell one’s ex-boss that he’d heard them arguing with his mother.

“I’m surprised we didn’t wake you up, then,” Gyro scoffed. But his expression quickly became thoughtful. “She threatened to arrest me for reckless endangerment.”

Fenton blanched. “D-Dr. Gearloose, you have to know that I had no idea she would—”

_ “Relax,” _ Gyro drawled, looking unconcerned. “It isn’t anything I haven’t heard before.”

Seconds ticked by, and Fenton wasn’t sure of how to respond. In fact, neither spoke after that, falling into a silence more stifling than even Fenton’s multiple casts.

Fenton was confident in who he was, in what he had chosen to be. Even  _ Scrooge McDuck  _ wanted him to be Gizmoduck, and that was all the ego boost he needed. But something about his former boss left him feeling wrong-footed and self-conscious, like a disobedient child. It was a feeling he’d grown to despise, but couldn’t figure out how to stop. 

And now he felt more confused than ever, his feelings of inadequacy in Gyro’s presence at odds with the man’s unfamiliar demeanor. 

He couldn’t figure out why Gyro would come visit him in the hospital. Even if Scrooge had ordered him to, that didn’t mean Gyro had to wait for him to wake up. He didn’t have to  _ sit  _ by him, or talk to him like a normal person, or call him by his name rather than the plethora of insults he always seemed to have at his disposal. 

Gyro didn’t  _ like  _ him. He hadn’t liked Fenton  _ before  _ he became Gizmoduck, and he probably wouldn’t like him  _ after _ . 

So why was he here? 

The prolonged silence was playing havoc with Fenton’s nerves, and he wished he could do something other than sit in his damn hospital bed while his former boss sat perfectly still beside him. 

Perhaps Gyro was waiting for something. But even as his intern, Fenton had found it nearly impossible to guess what Gyro was thinking at any given time. He used to think that made him a bad intern, but he’d started to realize that Gyro was just excellent at hiding his emotions. 

After an indeterminate amount of time, Fenton was no longer able to tolerate the silence. 

“I’m sorry I stole the Gizmosuit!” he exclaimed. 

“I’m sorry I fired you,” Gyro said at the same time. 

“I-I-I,” Fenton stuttered, uncomprehending. “Huh?”

Gyro huffed, glaring at some random spot on the wall. “I shouldn’t have fired you,” he said. 

“But, sir,” Fenton argued, and forcibly corrected himself, “Dr. Gearloose, you were completely within your rights! The suit was your invention, and just because I had different ideas about how to use it—”

“Better ideas,” Gyro interrupted. 

The admission shocked Fenton into silence. 

Gyro pinched his brow between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ve been trying to play it safe for so long that I didn’t see the full potential of the Gizmosuit. That’s why I didn’t listen to you. And then because I fired you, you ran to Beaks and that  _ hack  _ got ahold of the suit instead and nearly killed everyone within a hundred foot radius. Including Mr. McDuck’s nephew. And you.”

“And my mom,” Fenton added weakly

Gyro fixed him with a withering look. “How could I forget.”

He stood up, straightening his vest with one sharp tug. “Anyway, I just wanted to make that clear before you came back to work. And don’t think that just because we’re coworkers now I’ll let you get away with running all over the city without properly testing out the suit’s features. The last thing I need is you accidentally activating the rocket booster and launching yourself into the mesosphere.”

“I have a rocket booster?” Fenton asked curiously. He was promptly quelled by Gyro’s glare. “Right, proper testing. I won’t forget!”

Gyro made to leave his hospital room, just as Gloria came around the corner. He momentarily faltered as she narrowed her eyes at him. 

“Dr. Gearloose,” she said, her gaze scalding in its intensity. 

“Officer Cabrera,” Gyro replied evenly. Though he didn’t appear outwardly cowed, he was careful to edge around her without touching, and headed for the elevators at a clipped pace. 

 

The doctors explained that they wanted to keep Fenton under for the first few days of his recuperation, so that nothing interfered with the most important stage of healing. Unfortunately, this meant that Fenton kept slipping in and out of consciousness, with hardly any idea of how much time was passing.

Fenton woke up from his second nap of the day to a crick in his neck that was unfortunately becoming familiar. He was also incredibly thirsty, which also wasn’t anything new. 

He groaned quietly as he finally opened his eyes, finding his the lights of his hospital room had been dimmed. Outside the wide window to his right he saw downtown Duckburg laid out before him, lights glimmering in the dark of night. 

An unfamiliar sound drew his attention, out of place with the muted conversation, soft footsteps, and hum of fluorescent lighting that characterized the hospital at night.

Fenton looked down at the foot of his bed where he’d first woken to his mother laying her head upon crossed arms, and found Launchpad there instead. His friend was sound asleep, his snoring the sound that had alerted Fenton to his presence. His baseball hat was on the verge of slipping off his head, revealing the mussed hair beneath. 

“He’s been there for hours,” Fenton’s mother said. In the darkened room, he relied on the rustle of fabric to find her as she rose from a chair by the door. “He said he was a  _ friend  _ of yours?” Gloria’s tone was coy, and Fenton didn’t have to try very hard to imagine her smirk. 

But Fenton was too happy to see the pilot to care about his mother’s teasing.

“His name’s Launchpad,” Fenton told her as she came around the side of the bed. “Launchpad McQuack.” 

His mother hummed in response, fetching the cup of water with a straw in it that she had left on the table beside his bed. “Well, Mr. McQuack seemed very worried when he came in,” she said, bringing the cup close to Fenton’s beak. “He brought those for you.”

Fenton looked over her shoulder to see a shiny silver balloon emblazoned with the words “Get Well Soon!” and a riot of other colors _ , _ the low orange light from the hallway reflecting dully off its surface. Keeping it tethered was a stuffed brown bear sitting on the table. 

“ _ Ay, tome tu agua, Fenton,”  _ Gloria said with a small huff of laughter, when Fenton wouldn’t stop smiling long enough to open his beak. 

“Sorry,  _ Mamá,”  _ Fenton replied quickly, grateful for the dark hiding the worst of his embarrassment. 

As Fenton carefully sipped water, his mother looked over at the pilot’s slumbering form. “He seems nice,  _ pollito, _ ” she commented, as innocently as before. “Were you ever going to invite him over for dinner?”

Fenton nearly choked. “Mamá!” he hissed as loudly as he dared, though his coughing made it a moot point. 

“Whu-what?” Launchpad startled into wakefulness, jerking back in his chair so quickly that his hat fell off and landed on the bed. He scrubbed a hand down his face, looking around in bleary confusion. 

Gloria placed the water cup back on the table as Launchpad turned to look at them, and he smiled as realization broke over his face like the sun. 

“Fenton, buddy! You’re awake!” he exclaimed, standing up in his excitement. Above his bright eyes, his bangs hanged disheveled from his awkward sleeping position. But his expression quickly became sheepish, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Fenton shook his head as well as his neck brace allowed. “No, no, Launchpad, it’s fine! I’m just glad you’re here.”

They did little more than smile at each other for several seconds, and Gloria resisted the urge to roll her eyes heavenward. 

“So, Launchpad,” she said, casual as anything, which immediately put Fenton on alert. “How do you and Fenton know each other? My son hasn’t exactly been forthcoming lately.”

In the midst of scooting his chair closer to Fenton, Launchpad responded, “Oh, I met him a couple weeks back! He helped me try to beat this self-driving robot car and be declared the world’s best driver.”

“Right,” Gloria said, looking at Fenton with a deadpan expression. 

“He’s Scrooge McDuck’s driver and pilot,” Fenton explained quickly. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner,” Launchpad said more seriously, leaning forward in his chair. This close, the lines of exhaustion in his face were more apparent. “I would’ve been here right away, but I didn’t even  _ hear  _ about what happened until last night and—”

“I think,” Gloria said, clapping her hands together, “that I’m going to spend the rest of the night at home. Launchpad, can I trust you to watch over my  _ pollito  _ tonight?”

_ “Mamá!”  _ Fenton squawked. 

Launchpad stood up again. “Uh, y-yeah, you can count on it, Mrs. C!” 

Gloria smiled. “ _ Muchas gracias.”  _ She carefully kissed Fenton on the forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning,  _ pollito.  _ Try to get some rest.”

Before Fenton could utter more than a handful of stammered protests, his mother had collected her purse and jacket and left the hospital room altogether. 

“Your mom seems nice,” Launchpad said. 

Fenton closed his eyes with a groan. “Yeah, she’s the best.”

Launchpad reached over to pick up his hat from where it had fallen near Fenton’s foot. “How’re you feeling?” he asked, worrying his hat between his hands. 

Fenton laughed softly, wiggling the few fingers he had free from a cast. “Not too bad. They’ve got me on the good stuff. Sure wish I could bend my elbow though.”

“I would’ve been here sooner,” Launchpad said, more quietly than before. “I would’ve-I could’ve helped. But Mr. McDee needed to get somewhere top secret and far away and by the time we got back I just fell asleep—”

“Launchpad,” Fenton said, expression pained. 

“I slept through you  _ blowing up —” _

“Launchpad,” Fenton said again. “I should have reached out. I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve done anything other than buy into Beaks’ lies. I don’t know if there’s anything you could’ve done, but that doesn't matter. You’re here  _ now _ . And that...that’s what matters.”

Fenton’s blush raced up his neck and into his cheeks, making his smile turn bashful. 

Launchpad ducked his head and chuckled, his messy bangs hanging in his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. But next time, do you think you can you give me a call before things get  _ too  _ dangerous?”

Fenton smiled. “I promise.”

“Good,” Launchpad said, looking anywhere but at Fenton. He coughed, as forced and fake a sound as Fenton had ever heard. Then, quick as a flash, Launchpad stood up and kissed Fenton on the forehead, banishing any semblance of reasonable thought from his head. 

Before Launchpad could give Fenton time to react, he had already donned his baseball hat and was halfway out the door. 

“I’m gonna look for a vending machine! You’re probably sick of hospital food, right? Though I guess because it still technically counts as hospital food if I get from  _ inside  _ a hospital—you know what, nevermind! I’ll be right back!”

And Fenton’s body still ached. He couldn’t bend his elbow or straighten the other, and could only wiggle three fingers. But he still smiled, because for the first time since the moment he gained complete control of the suit, it felt like everything was going to be okay. 

That and, well, Launchpad had never kissed him before.     
  
  
  


 


End file.
